Page 60 of His Girl Hollywood
She pulled the phonebook out from under the shelf on her nightstand and began flipping through the pages, franticallyhunting for the Hollywood Starlight Inn. God, she didn’t even know Don’s room number. Did this dump even have phones in their rooms? She found the hotel in the yellow pages and dialed the number, pulling the rotary back each time and cursing how slow this process was. Why could she not just push a button?
A sleepy, bored voice picked up the line. “Hollywood Starlight Inn. How can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Don Lamont.” It all rushed out on one breath.
The clerk on the other end of the line paged through a sheaf of papers on the desk. “There isn’t anyone here by that name.”
Shoot. Had she remembered the name of the hotel wrong? Wait. “Could you try Don Lazzarini?”
She held her breath while the clerk looked again. Or at least made the pretense of moving a bunch of paperwork around loud enough for her to hear. “Room 208.” She exhaled. Of course. Don wouldn’t have used his stage name at a dingy Hollywood SRO. “But he’s not here. He never picked up his key. Hasn’t been back all night.”
Her stomach fell. That couldn’t be right. “Are you sure? Did he maybe have a spare on him?”
“No, he left the key for safekeeping. Made a point of it. He hasn’t been here since yesterday evening.”
So, he’d put her in a cab home and gone…where? In her mind flashed a picture of him on the deck of the gambling ship, Eleanor Lester in his arms. Don kissing the top of her head tenderly. Had he kissed Arlene like his life depended on it and gone to Eleanor’s bed? The thought of it made her sick. Don would never do something like that. Would he? But if he wasn’t with Eleanor, where was he?
Her heart sank as she remembered a similar night a few years ago. Her brother had called her in the wee hours of the morning to tell her that her father had died of a heart attack. Lena had wishedthen that she could’ve called Don. Could’ve gone to him for comfort. Don had been so different these last weeks. Tender. Gentle. Generous with his time and his heart. She had wondered if he’d been going through something while he was in New York and had finally come out the other side of it.
But what if she was wrong? Her mother was dying, and he was probably fast asleep in the arms of Eleanor Lester. Don Lamont wasn’t someone she could rely on. She should’ve known better. Learned her lesson. But her romanticism had won out. Lured her into a false sense of security by the promise of this love story that she’d always wished she could dream into being. But that was all it was. A dream.
She pulled on her loafers, grabbed her car keys, and sprinted out the front door. Alone. Again.
***
Arlene didn’t think she’d sat down in at least six hours. She’d sped her way to the hospital, even running a few stop signs in her panic. But she’d rushed through the emergency room doors to find Bill and his wife entertaining the boys, seemingly at ease. Her big brother grabbed her and wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry all her exhaustion and fear into his chest. “It’s okay, Lena. She’s gonna be okay,” he’d murmured, while patting her back. It had reminded her so much of her father and his reassuring hugs that it had set off a fresh wave of tears.
But when she’d finally calmed down, she’d swiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her cardigan and asked, “What happened?”
“She got a cramp when she got up to go to the bathroom. She fell and hit her head. She’s got a concussion and a bruised hip. But she should be back on her feet within two weeks.” Arlene had heaved a sigh of relief, unspeakably grateful today was not the dayshe lost her mother. As soon as her mother had been examined, Arlene had driven her home. She had been making coffee and running around the house ever since, trying to ensure her mother wanted for nothing.
“Ach, Lena, sit down. I’m all right.”
She plumped her mother’s pillow again and nestled it in between her mom’s hip and the side of the couch. “There, that should make sure you don’t press on the bruise.”
Her mother rolled her eyes, but Arlene knew it was only because she didn’t like being fussed over.
“I just want you to be comfortable, Mama.” Arlene took her fresh cup of coffee and sat next to her mother on the couch. The couch had a blue toile pattern, but it had worn away so much over the years that you could barely make out the faces of the figures in the design. As soon as she sat, her mother reached out her hand and placed it right above Arlene’s knee, squeezing to give her a bit of reassurance. “You’re a good girl. Always have been.”
Arlene reached for her mother’s hand and gripped it tightly. “I try, Mama.” They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Arlene added, her voice choked with emotion, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Her mother, still fragile from her fall, gingerly wrapped her arms around Arlene and pulled her to her chest. “Me too, Lena, me too.”
Arlene leaned into her mother’s embrace and inhaled deeply, soaking in Pauline Morgan’s familiar scent of dish soap, lavender potpourri, and Irish breakfast tea. It was a smell so uniquely her mother’s that she would never forget it. Her gratitude was immense. Today could’ve gone very differently. But her mother was still here, holding her, comforting her, her smell pervading the room. This was what mattered. Her family. Her career. Not some fly-by-night Broadway romance.
It was as if her mother could read her mind. While she continued to calm Arlene, steady in her embrace—even if her arms felt frailer than Arlene could ever remember them—she murmured so quietly that Arlene almost could’ve believed she imagined it. “Donnie? He didn’t come?”
Arlene shook her head, unable to put words to the disappointment she had felt in the wee hours of the morning when the hotel clerk had told her Don had never come home that evening. Her mother said nothing, merely made a soothing, clucking sound and stroked Arlene’s hair.
Once she’d gotten back to the house, Arlene had called the studio and asked the second unit to handle filming for the day while she made sure her mother was all right. Surely, Don would’ve heard by now that all was not well in the Morgan home. But he hadn’t called. Hadn’t checked in to find out if Pauline was dead or alive. That stung more than the thought that he’d likely romanced Arlene the entire evening before ending it in Eleanor Lester’s bed.
But it was the same as when her father had died. No word, no condolences, nothing. Radio silence and the sinking feeling that she’d been wrong about one of the people she’d loved most in this world. A churning anger swirled in her gut. How dare he! After everything her mother had done for him. Her father. How dare he ignore them when they needed him most! Act as if it didn’t matter to him if they lived or died. None of them had ever expected anything in return for opening their home to Don and giving him the family that the Lazzarinis were incapable of being for their only son. But didn’t they at least merit some loyalty, a stray thought of goodwill?
A pounding at the front door startled them both. Noting her mother’s wince as she jolted in her arms, Arlene apologized quickly.She had no idea who it could be. The neighbors had come by to check in this morning, and Bill had long since headed to work to try to make up for some of the day’s catch that he’d missed. A flicker of hope ignited in her chest. Could it be Don? She’d still give him a piece of her mind. But if he was here, even late, that was something.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Don Lamont. It was, frankly, the last person on earth Arlene had any desire to see—Eleanor Lester. Her generally well-coiffed blond hair was a little worse for wear, and Arlene noted that she was wearing mismatching shoes. But the sight only made Arlene realize that her own sweater and slacks clashed in the most horrible way. And she was certain that Eleanor had a more infuriating reason for her state of disarray.
“Go away,” growled Arlene. She moved to shut the door in Eleanor’s face, but Eleanor stuck out her shoe with the brown heel and caught it with her foot.